Blank Page
by SiriuslyGeorgia
Summary: Words usually come easy to Lily Evans, but then she's faced with writing a eulogy for her father.


**Disclaimer: Everything belongs to JK.**

* * *

There was something about a blank page that usually calmed Lily. At Hogwarts, she could sit down in an armchair in the common room, surrounded by the noise that usually followed around excited first years (and certain excitable fellow seventh years), and the look of her blank parchment would fill her with calm, and she'd be able to write whichever essay was due next.

Schoolwork came easy to her. It wasn't fun – unless it was a practical lesson that still made her stomach drop and her heart flutter despite having lived in the magical world for much of the life she could remember. Most of the time, though, it wasn't hard for her to put quill to parchment and wax lyrical about the dangers of ingesting too much polyjuice potion, even if she had James sitting next to her and trying his hardest to distract her.

Now though, as she held pen to paper, there was nothing she could think of writing. The pen felt too smooth in her hand, nothing like the soft featheriness of a quill. She yearned for the roar of the common room fire, not the low hum of the radiators leaking heat that didn't warm her from the inside out. She wished she was surrounded by the deep reds of the common room, not the cool blue hues that filled her parent's – her mother's – dining room. Blue was sadness, blue was Petunia, blue was memories shared that were now lost.

"Are you okay, dear?" Lily looked up to see her mother's head poking around the doorframe. She'd been asking Lily the same question approximately seven times an hour since the latter had stepped out of the fireplace the day before.

Lily tried her best for a smile. She was sure the result was more like a grimace, but her mother entered the room anyway. For the first time since Lily had arrived, her mother was fully dressed, complete with shoes and a coat.

Lily eyed her suspiciously. "Where are you off to?"

"I didn't want it to come to this, sweetie," began Mary Evans, directing an apologetic glance at her youngest daughter. Lily closed her eyes for a few seconds and took a deep breath, bracing herself. How much more bad news could she take this week? "I'm going to see your sister."

"What? Why can't she come here?" The question was barely out of her mouth when she realised the answer herself. She glanced towards the windowsill which used to host a framed photograph of a short redheaded girl and a skinny brunette, both grinning at the camera, but was now bare. "Right. Because I'm here."

Mary crossed the room and placed her hand on Lily's shoulder. It felt shockingly warm and Lily jumped at the contact, before catching herself and lifting her own hand to cover her mother's. She hadn't realised just how lonely she'd felt sat in this room, unable to think of anything but the past.

"I was going to insist she that she came here, we know your dad would've done," said Mary, and a silence fell over the two of them as they were both lost in their own memories. Lily remembered one day at the beginning of her third year of Hogwarts, when Petunia had refused to accompany the rest of the family to King's Cross. She remembered how Petunia had screamed about her 'freak of a sister' and how she wasn't going anywhere near magic, but their father had insisted for hours on end that they would see Lily off as a family. Lily remembered with perfect clarity how a sullen Petunia had lurked behind her smiling parents. She would do anything to see them smile like that again.

Hearing her mother clear her throat brought Lily back to reality. "I just don't think any of us need the stress," said Mary quietly. As much as her heart hurt at the thought, all Lily had to do was look at her mum's face and she agreed straight away. Lily had last seen her just over a month ago, in the Christmas holidays, but it looked like she'd aged years in that time. Her usually vibrant hair, the exact shade of Lily's, contained the odd grey strand Lily had never seen before. The wrinkles on her forehead were more pronounced, and a slight frown seemed to have settled permanently on her face.

Lily rose from her chair and embraced her mother. "I understand, Mum." She pulled away and tried for an actual smile this time. "I just feel sorry for you, having to deal with _Vernon_."

Mary let out a soft laugh, and Lily thought she'd never heard a more beautiful sound. "Oh, Lil, I'm so proud of you, and your dad was too."

Sniffing, Lily took her mum's hands, "I know, Mum, thanks."

"You don't have to say anything tomorrow," said Mary, as she eyed the blank paper on the table. "Your dad wouldn't have minded."

"He would've thought the huge thing was an unnecessary farce, anyway."

Mary squeezed her daughter's hands. "Can't you just imagine him rolling his eyes at all of the preparations?"

Above everything, that was how Lily remembered her dad when she thought of him: rolling his eyes with a smirk on his face, complaining about the frivolous life he was forced to lead living with three females. "He'd hate it, but he deserves it."

Both Evans' lifted their hands to their eyes, wiping stray tears.

"He does, doesn't he?"

The pair embraced again, both murmuring comforting words to each-other. Strangely, Lily felt her heart lift. It was so wonderful to hug the woman who'd brought her up, even if the circumstances were dire.

A tapping noise came from the window. Lily detached herself to her mother and turned towards the familiar sound. She was surprised to see her own owl on the other side of the glass.

"Betsy?" exclaimed Lily as she made her way to the window. After she'd unbolted the window and let the snowy owl hop onto her arm, she turned back to her mother, who was stood with a faint smile on her face. "I swear she was in her cage today, did you let her out?"

Mary pulled her coat tighter around her torso. "I thought she might fancy some fresh air." Before Lily could reply, her mother bade her goodbye and left the room.

Lily was still petting Betsy's head curiously when the front door closed.

"I'll let you back out tomorrow," Lily told her owl as she carried her up the stairs to lock Betsy in her cage. When she returned downstairs she felt the chill of the house more keenly and she rubbed her hands over her arms as she lowered herself into the straight-backed chair she'd been sat in all day.

She didn't even bother picking up the pen.

How could she even begin to try and say goodbye to the man who raised her, who'd accepted her, who'd laughed with her? It seemed like an impossible task, but no matter what her mum had said, Lily had to speak at the funeral. She had to let everyone know just how much he'd meant to her.

She wished her friends were here. She could almost see Hestia wandering around the room, inspecting anything that was non-magical. Mary would be lounging in the chair opposite Lily with her feet up on the table, laughing whenever Hestia pronounced something incorrectly. Remus would be frantically scribbling an essay he hadn't had time to do due to his time in the hospital wing the week before. Sirius would be cursing Merlin as he lost game after game of exploding snap to Peter. And James…

Well, James was a whole other story. Lily could see two James' in her mind's eye. One was sat between Sirius and Peter, flicking his wand occasionally to add to the explosion, making party streamers and fireworks erupt from the cards every time Sirius lost. The other was sat next to Lily, leaning forward occasionally to poke her in the stomach or plant a kiss on her cheek despite her half-hearted protests. She didn't know which James she liked best: the one who made her laugh, or the one who made her smile. What she did know was that she could do with both right now.

Lily sighed. The thought of Hogwarts couldn't help her now. She picked up the pen, determined to write something, _anything…_

 _Robert Evans,_ she wrote, and then scribbled it out. On the line underneath, she tried different versions ( _Bob Evans, Bobby, my father, my dad_ ) but nothing felt right. None of those terms felt personal enough, so that he'd know it was her talking to him, not anyone else.

She slammed the pen down on the table. Maybe she couldn't do this. Everything was so wrong. Her, alone in the house, in the room that was so _blue_ , without her dad or even a whisper of the sister she'd idolised when she was young.

A knock sounded at the door. Lily's heart immediately started beating faster, but her mum had mentioned yesterday that a few people had been visiting to offer homemade cakes and casserole as well as their condolences. Even so, she made sure her wand was tucked into the pocket of her jeans before she opened the door.

Stood there, framed by the glow of the evening sun, was James Potter.

Lily's jaw dropped. Her brain refused to process the sight of him, dressed in his Hogwarts robes, on her doorstep. After a few seconds in which James regarded her with slight amusement, she regained her composure enough to splutter, "Potter?"

He raised an eyebrow. "Well, if we're back to using surnames; isn't it nice to see me, Evans?"

"Just as I was beginning to think that maybe you were a Death Eater in disguise, you go and say that," Lily told him, barely resisting the urge to fling her arms around his neck.

James pretended to consider her words. "I still could be," he informed her seriously. "Ask me something only I'd know."

"Hmm." She tapped her fingers to her chin. "On our first patrol as Head Boy and Girl, who did we catch together in a broom closet?"

James grinned. Lily regarded that grin as one of the seven wonders of her world – it lit up every part of his face, and did unspeakable things to her body. "Anthony Boot and Matthew Lane."

Still reeling from shock, Lily stepped back to let him into the house, but stopped short when his grin turned into a frown. "What's wrong?"

"Anthony and Matthew would have known that too, you can't trust that I'm the real James Potter on that question," he explained to her in an exasperated voice. Then, he winked.

 _Oh, that's it_ , Lily thought, and threw herself at him. If he was at all surprised from her lack of restraint, he didn't show it. He just held her firmly and allowed her to bury her face in his neck. He smelled of grass and burning embers and magic.

"How are you doing, Lily?" he asked into her hair.

There were a dozen ways to answer that question, but only one that mattered to her as she breathed him in. "Better now you're here."

She felt his lips curl into a smile. They stood in silence for a few moments, Lily holding James tighter to ensure he was real. She knew his next words were bound to be about the inevitable, but she wanted to keep up her illusion a little while longer, so she stepped back from him and folded her arms. "I expected you to fall off the doorstep then. Does this mean you have witches throwing themselves at you all the time?"

James grimaced. "Is it that obvious?"

Lily nodded and pulled him into the house. "It's okay, I understand Quidditch players are irresistible."

"No, I think it's just me," said James as Lily closed the door. "Have you seen the state of Mulciber?"

Lily laughed properly for the first time in days. It felt good, but she couldn't help the feeling of guilt swarming in her stomach. James seemed to sense Lily's discomfort and leaned back against the hallway wall, waiting for her to speak.

"My dad," she began. "He – "

James cut her off. "I know, you don't need to say it."

She thought he must have known, but "How?"

He ran a hand through his hair. "I'd known he was ill, but when you went to see McGonagall after Charms yesterday and you didn't come back, I guessed that might be the reason. We were all so worried, Lil, we didn't know what had happened."

She reached forward and grabbed his hand. "I'm sorry, I couldn't think, I just had to be home."

"Don't apologise," he said quickly. "I knew it was important and that I'd get an owl off you soon."

"I never sent you an owl," she admitted guiltily.

James flashed her a smile and reached into his robes. He produced a muggle-looking sheet of paper and held it out to her. "I read it, went straight to McGonagall's office and refused to leave until she let me come here."

Lily took the letter from him and unfolded the page.

 _Dear James,_

 _I am terribly sorry that this has to be the first communication we have had, but Lily speaks so highly of you, and so often, that I feel I must inform you of my husband's passing. Lily won't want to inconvenience anyone by asking you, so I am taking it upon myself to insist you come to the funeral tomorrow. Robert would have loved to meet you; he teased Lily relentlessly over Christmas due to her endless chatter about you. I shall be damned if I miss out on the opportunity to meet you too. Please feel free to stay the night tonight – in the guest bedroom, of course. I will be out of the house for a few hours from about five o'clock. If you can have my daughter smiling by the time I return, you will be welcomed into this family with open arms._

 _Kind Regards,  
Mary Evans_

Lily looked up at James. He seemed unsure of her reaction. The only times she could ever recall James Potter looking anything less than one hundred percent sure was when it concerned her. Her dad used to tell her to 'find a man who looks at you like you are the sun, the moon and the stars all in one', but she reckoned finding a man who looked at you like a puzzle he'd spend his whole life solving was about the same thing. She blinked away tears and said stubbornly, "It wasn't _endless chatter_."

The grin was back, and Lily found it hard to be tearful with the full wattage of that grin directed at her. "Oh, it definitely was."

Lily cocked her head. "And what makes you so sure?"

"Because," he said, stepping forward and placing his hands on the wall either side of Lily's head so she was forced to look up at him, "my mum would've said exactly the same thing."

He was barely a head taller than her, but Lily still had to go on her tip-toes to kiss him. She didn't let it last long before pulling back and leading James into the dining room. She returned to the chair she'd just vacated and watched James survey the room.

He did a lap of the room, looking at the photographs occupying the walls and windowsill. If he noticed that all the pictures showed either Lily or Petunia, never both, he didn't comment. After laughing at a photo of Lily in the bath at age two, he turned back to the eighteen-year-old version.

"I think I know why the sorting hat didn't put you in Ravenclaw," he announced after scrutinizing her appearance for a few moments.

Lily had heard enough of James' random comments to just wait for his next words patiently.

He gestured dramatically at the walls. "Blue is so not your colour."

"James Potter, you are the strangest boy I've ever had the pleasure of meeting."

He shrugged. "I am a wonder, aren't I?"

When she didn't reply and offered him a soft smile instead, her thoughts still on the photographs he'd been looking at, he sat in the chair next to her. With one hand, he picked up the piece of paper in front of her, and his other arm went around her shoulders. "What's this?" he asked.

She resisted the urge to lean in to his warmth. If she did, she wouldn't want to ever move. "I want to speak tomorrow, you know…"

His hand squeezed her shoulder comfortingly, and she wondered how on earth she'd ever detested this boy. "I guessed that much, I did get seven Outstanding OWLs." She turned her head to roll her eyes at him; he responded by planting a kiss on her nose. "I was talking about this," he flapped the paper in her face. "How can you write on _this_?"

"It's what muggles use," she explained.

James shook his head. "It's too white. You can't write on something so pristine."

"Well, I have to. Muggles don't use quills either, they use pens." She picked up the pen on the table and flung it at him. It hit the hand that was holding the paper and dropped into his lap.

"I'm not Quidditch Captain for nothing," he told her with the same air of confidence he'd used to woo everyone with in fifth year. It hadn't worked on her then, but _that_ James had never been there for her in her darkest times.

He let the paper float back onto the table as he picked up the pen and twirled it round in his hand. "I don't know how you can write with these things, they're so stiff."

Lily let out a noise of agreement. "I know only a terrible artist blames his tools and all that, but the ink's too thin and even the bloody paper's taunting me with its whiteness. I'm not cut out to use a pen and paper anymore."

James' eyes crinkled and he tilted his head towards Lily as if to lament at her stupidity. "That's because you're a witch, Lily."

She gasped. "A witch, really?" she exclaimed. "Why didn't anyone tell me this before?"

He leaned closer to her. "The thing about witches, and you might not know this, is that they can do spells!"

Rolling her eyes, Lily was about to shrug James' arm from off her shoulders, but he stood up before she had the chance. He produced his wand from inside his robes. Tapping his wand to the paper, he muttered a spell they'd learnt in first year and the paper stretched into a long, yellowing sheet of parchment. When he did the same to the pen, it sprouted feathers, leaving a quill in its place. Finally, he transfigured a coaster on the table into a brimming inkwell. Beaming, he faced Lily.

"I could've done that," she told him truthfully.

He grabbed the newly transfigured items off the table and thrust them at Lily. She took them, trying to keep the inkwell upright – trust James not to create one with a lid – and stared at him questionably.

"A twelve-year-old could've done that," he said. "But considering you didn't think of doing it, a thank you will suffice."

It was true that she hadn't thought of doing it, even though she'd wished numerous times in the day for a quill, convinced she'd be able to make the words flow with one. Now she held it in her hand, though, she didn't feel the strike of inspiration she'd expected. "Thank you, James," she said because she loved that he'd tried to help her when she didn't know how to help herself.

"I'm not done yet," he told her. "Stand up."

She did as he said, managing to not spill ink over herself or the carpet. "I really need to get this done, James, maybe with a quill –"

Placing a finger over her lips, James said, "Just give me two minutes, and then I'll shut up and let you write. Agreed?"

"Okay."

She followed him out of the dining room and into the living room. Both rooms were roughly the same size and colour, but the living room hosted a fireplace, two sofas and a coffee table rather than the larger table Lily had been sat at all day. Her dad's slippers were still lined up in the corner of the room, and Lily smiled at the memory of him walking in from work and refusing to do anything until he had his slippers on. It was the little things she'd miss more than anything.

She looked back at James and he was regarding her with a sad smile on his lips. She cleared her throat. "What's your grand plan then?"

"Close your eyes."

"I swear to Merlin, James Potter, if you hex me I'll make sure no other girl ever goes out with you again," she threatened, but closed her eyes regardless.

She heard him scoff. "As if I'd want another girl."

Her heart leaped. As her brain was attempting to whip up a witty comment, she heard him muttering under his breath.

"What kind of NEWT student can't do non-verbal spells?" she mused, wondering what the source of the slight scraping sounds could be.

"I can do them," James insisted. "Just not all the time."

She could imagine him furrowing his brow as he attempted to force his wand to do magic without being explicitly told. She let out a giggle. "Alright, if you say so."

She heard James' footsteps come closer to her, so she didn't jump when he whispered in her ear. "Open them."

For a split second, she wondered if she'd open her eyes to the sight of a crumbling house, but then she opened her eyes and all coherent thoughts left her mind.

He'd recreated Gryffindor Tower for her. In her living room.

The picture of a sunset that had hung above the fireplace had been replaced by a huge red banner depicting a lion hung above the fireplace. The fireplace itself was filled with more logs than Lily had ever seen there. The sofa in front of them and the table had gone. Instead, a maroon armchair stood next to the fire. As she stepped closer, she saw a rip in the fabric on the left arm of the chair, exactly like her favourite armchair in the common room. She placed her writing utensils on the table in front of the armchair and turned to James, who had approached her whilst she'd been marvelling over the details in the perfect imitation of the graffiti on the table. He pointed his wand at the fireplace and Lily felt the heat of it caress her skin as soon as the logs were aflame. She'd always loved the sound of crackling embers.

"I'm not sure whether it matches or clashes with your hair, but red suits you much better, I think," he said. She could see the oranges and reds of the fire reflected in his glasses.

She shook her head at him slowly, still trying to process how her day – one of the worst of her life – had turned out. "How is it you always know exactly what to do?"

He took her hand with one of his and used the other to catch a tear that was about to roll down her cheek. "I'd like to think I know you quite well by now."

Lily squeezed his hand. "He would've definitely approved of you."

"Of course he would've done," he said, but his voice was lacking the boastful tone that usually accompanied similar words. He kissed Lily tenderly on the forehead, and she knew that he appreciated her words.

"I think your two minutes are up," she told him regretfully. She only had a few more hours left to complete the task she'd set herself.

Letting go of her hand, he stepped around her and planted himself in the armchair. "Come on then, let's get started."

James kept to his promise, and stayed silent whilst she wrote. Or tried to write, at least. Ten minutes later, she was sat on the chair between James' legs staring at blank parchment.

"I just don't know how to start," she whispered. "I don't know how to address him."

From behind her, she heard a sigh. "Put the quill down."

"I've only just picked it up," she protested.

He gathered up her hair in one of his hands and let it tumble over her left shoulder so that she could see his face just by turning her head slightly to the right. This close, she could see the tiny scar on his chin that Sirius had given him during the only physical fight they'd ever had a few years prior. "Tell me your favourite story about your dad."

She put the quill down. "Okay," she said on an exhaled breath as she leaned back into him. He put his arms around her waist. "I'm not sure if this is even a memory of mine, but my mum has told me the story so many times it might as well be."

James didn't say anything, but placed his lips to the back of her neck.

She took a deep breath. "I must've been about two, sat on my mum's lap, right on that sofa there." The sofa in question was sagging with years of use. "I was holding my arms out and just shouting 'daddy' over and over again. He walked in the room and rolled his eyes, as if to complain about how needy I was, but he picked me up straight away and said 'daddy's here, sweetheart'. I don't even know if two year olds feel that kind of contentment, but I definitely did."

Holding her tight, James let her quietly dwell in her own memories for a few minutes before she regained her composure. "My mum always says that's when she knew I'd be a daddy's girl."

"That's it, then," James told her plainly as he released his grip on her.

"That's what?"

He leaned forward as best he could without disturbing her. "That's how you're starting it," he said as he picked up the quill and carefully wrote 'Daddy," at the top of the parchment.

 _Of course_ , she thought. "You dare be smug about this, and you can get out now," she threatened, but she was smiling.

Eyebrows raised, he faced her. "The only one who should be smug is you, for having such an amazing boyfriend."

"Alright," she conceded. "I'll give you that one, just this once."

James leaned back in the chair. "Try again," he suggested, nodding his head towards the table.

She picked up the quill. Since they'd been seated, the sun had set. With the only light coming from the fire, it was easy to imagine herself sat in Gryffindor Tower late at night, as her and James had done every week since September after finishing their patrols of the corridors. She'd sit and check over essays she'd rushed through beforehand, and they'd talk in hushed tones about nothing and everything until she'd finished her work and he was snoring quietly in the chair next to her. It was during these moments that Lily had first begun to really get to know James, and she'd realised he was hardly recognisable from his fifth-year days. Even back then, she thought her dad would've liked him – James' mischievous streak would've amused her dad to no end, and anyone who didn't approve of Severus was approved by her father. Lily had never divulged to her father that he'd always been right about 'that strange Snape boy'.

Lost in her thoughts, her quill glided across the parchment. She thought about how her dad would've loved Hogwarts castle and the secrets it held. Ever since Professor Slughorn had delivered her Hogwarts letter and explained to the Evans' all about magic, Robert Evans had been fascinated. She was sure he'd read A History of Magic more than she had.

Before she knew it, the parchment was half-filled with dark scribbles. She dropped her body back on James, who let out an 'oomph' sound as her weight landed on him. "There."

"You're done already?" he asked. "I haven't even seen you write a charms essay that fast."

"Making a huge bubble form around my head may be interesting, but my dad was better."

"If he was half as interesting as you, I'm not surprised."

Lily elbowed him in the ribs. "If you keep saying stuff like that, I might start to think you're actually nice."

"Oh, the horrors! Just let me read this and then I'll hex you."

She grabbed the parchment off the table and held it out to him.

He pinched the sheet with his thumb and forefinger, but didn't take it from her. He lowered his voice. "Are you sure?"

She made a noise of agreement and pushed the parchment closer to him. "You'll hear it tomorrow anyway."

She'd tried to downplay it, but when she turned her face to him, he held her gaze for a second longer than necessary before turning his eyes down to the parchment. He read in silence, a small smile forming on his face as he read.

"It's beautiful, Lily, really," he said once he'd placed the parchment back on the table. He laced the fingers of one of his hands with hers. "You amaze me, yet again."

"That's what I do best." She flashed him a quick smile. "Do you think it's okay to read tomorrow?"

He squeezed her hand. "I know I never met him, but I'd bet you've captured him perfectly. No-one will have any doubt as to how kind, generous and accepting he was."

"I hope so," she said. She leaned back into him again, thinking. "I'm so jealous of Petunia."

"I know sometimes I don't listen, but I'm sure Petunia is the evil sister you've barely spoken to in years. Am I missing something?"

Lily sighed. "She's not evil. Well, not fully evil. I'll never be jealous of Vernon," she said his name the way someone else might say vermin and James huffed behind her, "but at least she had my dad there to walk her down the aisle…" She glanced sideways at James, suddenly conscious of who she was speaking to.

"Bit too soon to be talking about marriage, don't you think?" he quipped.

She was glad he couldn't see her entire face, which she was sure must be bright red. "Oh be quiet, you know I didn't mean that."

When he spoke, his tone was matter-of-fact. "Sirius will walk you down the aisle."

Lily nearly choked on her laugh. "What?" she spluttered.

"Well, I suppose Remus could too. Peter doesn't have the right look for it, although if you're determined for it to be him, we could probably do something with his hair."

Lily dropped James' hand and stood up so she could kneel between his legs and face him properly. "Are you telling me you've thought about this?"

James grinned. "Well, no. I'm just saying that we're all here for you. I wouldn't be offended if you had Hestia or Mary walk you down the aisle either. You'd have people fighting for the honour."

As she looked at him, still with that smile on his face, she wasn't sure whether to roll her eyes or laugh. In the end, she did neither, as he reached up, drew her face to his and kissed her.

"You're mental," she told him when they broke apart.

"You love me."

"You know what?" she said, running her fingers through his perpetually messy hair. "I think I might."

"I think I might, too."

* * *

 **Author's Note: It's been a long while since I've posted anything, and an even longer while since I've posted anything Jily, but I think this is the longest one-shot I've ever written, so if you're reading this please feel very privileged and favourite/review. You may also want to subscribe, as I have a teeny urge to continue this later into the night and at the funeral the day after – let me know if you'd be interested!  
PS. I was really stuck on a title for this, hence why it's so bad so if anyone has any ideas tell me!**


End file.
